


Hush

by inheritedjeans



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark, Dark Sam Winchester, Gen, Horror, Preseries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inheritedjeans/pseuds/inheritedjeans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean didn't stop talking after Mary's death because he was traumatized; it was because something told him 'Hush.' Preseries AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hush

**Author's Note:**

> Written for sharpteeth and originally posted on LJ.

There is a little boy in a big white house, and if you were to ask him what he loves most in the whole wide world, he would probably say his baby brother and his mommy and his daddy. (This is true.) On a day he’s feeling not very nice and maybe a little grumpy, he might say he loves his big-boy baseball glove and his hot wheels. If you were to ask this little boy if he was happy, though, I think he would always tell you that yes, yes he is, sir. But this is not where his story ends; in fact, it isn’t even where it begins. (This is also true.)  
  
It begins on a night when, as always and as usual but not as forever after, that little boy says goodnight to his brother Sammy as he gurgles and waves his little baby fists. This little boy, who lets his father call him “tiger” and his mother “my baby boy,” wants to go to sleep just so that he can wake right back up and say, “Good morning, Sammy. Let’s go play cars.” He wants it to be morning already, but to do that, night-time has to happen, and so he lets his father tuck him into bed.  
  
Daddy leans in close and tucks Dean in with big warm arms and a big warm voice that says, “’Night, Dean-o. Sleep tight, tiger.” Dean nods and snuggles in tight, just like Daddy told him to. Nods and waits as Mommy comes in, everything soft and gentle as she presses a kiss to his cheek and presses a hand right on top of her kiss, whispering with soft and gentle breath that smells like mint.  
  
“Angels are watching over you, baby.”  
  
Dean nods, because his mommy always promises that, and that means it must always be true. He smiles because life is so very warm. Shivers for no reason at all when the door shuts with a low click.  
  
He closes his eyes and knows with the certainty of all his heart that he is not alone in the darkness of his room, but he also knows that angels are watching over him always. (Only one of these things is true.)  
  
Dean tosses and turns and tucks his head deep inside his blankets; wishes the sun would come right back up—this instant, mister!—and wishes that he wasn’t such a scaredy-cat. Little brothers can be scaredy-cats, but big brothers are supposed to be brave; to keep everyone safe. (Even Dean knows, though he is a small boy, that this is true, now and always.)  
  
Slithering through the thin night air, sliding in between the sheets, a voice tells Dean,  _Yes. This is true for now and always._  
  
The glow of yellow just beyond the window pane says,  _I am the dawning day, Dean. Go to Sam._  So he does. The floor is still cold, still waiting for the sun to warm it up, but Dean knows that that will happen soon. (This is not true; not for this house on this day.) The hallway is dark, and Sammy’s room is dark, but his mommy and daddy haven’t turned the lights on, yet; that’s all.  
  
Dean doesn’t know, doesn’t have any idea, why he hides inside Sammy’s closet, burrows inside the clothes too small for him but far too big for Sammy.  _There is a reason, Dean. There is a reason always._  Inside that closet, that little boy dreams strange dreams. Watches with fevered eyes, hooded with a Knowing he should never have to carry, and listens to the thready beat of his own thumping heart as Sammy’s own angel watches over him just like Mommy promises always; protects him, sings a lullaby over his crib.  _As you must do as well, Dean. Listen. Listen carefully. And watch._  
  
Watch, Dean. Watch and remember, then forget. And close your eyes.  
  
An angel. Dean listens to the angel that loves his brother so; watches and watches, shuts his eyes tight and remembers… remembers….  
  
Forgets something important. Dean squishes his eyes in tight and panics, but then it’s okay; it’s all okay. It’s all okay. He listens to then lull of his mother’s voice as she says things he can’t quite hear, and he listens to his heart go thump thump thump, faster. Waits as heat crawls under the door. Waits until he hears his father scream for him. They run.  
  
 _Remember, Dean. Protect Sammy always, and always you must protect him. But Dean, we must wait. Dean, you must forget. And Dean?_  
  
For the first time, Dean answers back,  _Yes?_  
  
 _Hush._  
  
\--  
  
Dean wakes up already bolting off of the rock-hard motel mattress, arm thrust in front of him, voice silent, ever silent, as it always is on the morning after The Dream. Sam, sitting on the bed opposite him, watches him with caution—Sam is used to Dean’s strange fits.  
  
 _Hush, Dean; hush._  
  
But that trick hasn’t worked for a long while, now; not since before Dean grew too big to curl around his daddy’s knees.  
  
“You good?” Sam knows this routine, has the proper action plan of How To Deal stitched across his brain. So he knows that Dean will never answer him; not with anything more than a nod and a grunt. Dean pressed his face into his hand, and—  
  
—Dean saw—and he had seen—  
  
(What did you see, Dean? What did you see.)  
  
 _Hush, quiet, stop. And forget_  
  
Forget what?  
  
Dean smiles at Sam as Sam watches; watches.  
  
\--  
  
Dean remembers his father crying gruff tears the day he started talking again. There is no such fanfare on the day Dean remembers, so many years after that.  
  
(What did you see, Dean?)  
  
 _This is not your brother._  
  
Dean (with all his heart) knows this to be true, for It Is.  
  
Sam just begins to turn around by the time Dean raises his knife, but that is warning enough. Dean’s arm stops where it is, poised for an attack that will never land, and he can’t pull away from the sinking wells that are Sam’s eyes.  
  
“This again, Dean?” A soft sigh. “It isn’t time. So hush. Hush and forget. And remember—you are going to save me.”  
  
\--  
  
Something deep inside his mind is screaming, but then it disappears.  
  
He looks at his brother and says, “Don’t worry, Sam. Promise I won’t trade you for smokes.”  
  
Sam rolls his eyes, and Dean lays a careful smile over his concerns. Big brothers aren’t allowed to be scaredy-cats, after all.  
  
\--  
  
Dean dreams of a little boy, lost inside a closet, lost inside his head, watching and forgetting. Dreams of that little boy watching his brother’s angel— _Remember, Dean, to protect him always; to watch and forget_ —as he pours himself into a crib, into a baby gurgling and happy, more and more until he spills between the bars, dripping red onto the carpet in a way the little boy knows would make Mommy very very Upset. (Though this is true, the boy has no clear idea why.)  
  
Sunshine speaks inside his mind, as it has always done.  
  
 _Now, Dean. Now he is mine, just as you are His. So hush. Hush and forget. Until we are all of us ready._  
  
\--  
  
Dean wakes up and doesn’t notice the shadow behind Sam’s eyes.  
  
He smiles at Sam as Sam watches, watches, waits.  
—·


End file.
